A Study in Politics
by SmugKK
Summary: After the Tri-Wizard Tournament, people begin asking questions. Cedric's parents launch an investigation into his death, foreign powers are shaken, and Harry is at the center of a media explosion. After being attacked by dementors, Harry takes Mrs. Figg's advice and seeks legal counsel, introducing him to the political environment in London, casting him as a player in his own fate.
1. Introduction

Author's Note: This first 'Chapter' is an excerpt from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Chapter 1. No copyright infringement is intended, this is purely to set the stage for this story's departure from canon.

All recognizable characters and story lines are the property of JK Rowling and affiliated partners.

Please read and review J

"Hey, Big D!"

Dudley turned. "Oh," he grunted. "It's you."

"How long have you been 'Big D' then?" said Harry.

"Shut it," snarled Dudley, turning away again.

"Cool name," said Harry, grinning and falling into step beside his cousin. "But you'll always be Ickle Diddykins to me."

"I said, SHUT IT!" said Dudley, whose ham-like hands had curled into fists.

"Don't the boys know that's what your mum calls you?"

"Shut your face."

"You don't tell her to shut her face. What about 'popkin' and 'Dinky Diddydums,' can I use them then?" Dudley said nothing. The effort of keeping himself from hitting Harry seemed to be demanding all his self-control.

"So who've you been beating up tonight?" Harry asked, his grin fading. "Another ten-year-old? I know you did Mark Evans two nights ago —"

"He was asking for it," snarled Dudley.

"Oh yeah?"

"He cheeked me."

"Yeah? Did he say you look like a pig that's been taught to walk on its hind legs? 'Cause that's not cheek, Dud, that's true . . ."

A muscle was twitching in Dudley's jaw. It gave Harry enormous satisfaction to know how furious he was making Dudley; he felt as though he was siphoning off his own frustration into his cousin, the only outlet he had.

They turned right down the narrow alleyway where Harry had first seen Sirius and which formed a shortcut between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. It was empty and much darker than the streets it linked because there were no streetlamps. Their footsteps were muffled between garage walls on one side and a high fence on the other.

"Think you're a big man carrying that thing, don't you?" Dudley said after a few seconds.

"What thing?"

"That — that thing you're hiding."

Harry grinned again.

"Not as stupid as you look, are you, Dud? But I s'pose if you were, you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time. . . ."

Harry pulled out his wand. He saw Dudley look sideways at it.

"You're not allowed," Dudley said at once. "I know you're not. You'd get expelled from that freak school you go to."

"How d'you know they haven't changed the rules, Big D?"

"They haven't," said Dudley, though he didn't sound completely convinced. Harry laughed softly.

"You haven't got the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?" Dudley snarled.

"Whereas you just need four mates behind you before you can beat up a ten-year-old. You know that boxing title you keep banging on about? How old was your opponent? Seven? Eight?"

"He was sixteen for your information," snarled Dudley, "and he was out cold for twenty minutes after I'd finished with him and he was twice as heavy as you. You just wait till I tell Dad you had that thing out —"

"Running to Daddy now, are you? Is his ickle boxing champ frightened of nasty Harry's wand?"

"Not this brave at night, are you?" sneered Dudley.

"This is night, Diddykins. That's what we call it when it goes all dark like this."

"I mean when you're in bed!" Dudley snarled. He had stopped walking. Harry stopped too, staring at his cousin. From the little he could see of Dudley's large face, he was wearing a strangely triumphant look.

"What d'you mean, I'm not brave in bed?" said Harry, nonplussed. "What — am I supposed to be frightened of pillows or something?"

"I heard you last night," said Dudley breathlessly. "Talking in your sleep. Moaning."

"What d'you mean?" Harry said again, but there was a cold, plunging sensation in his stomach. He had revisited the graveyard last night in his dreams.

Dudley gave a harsh bark of laughter then adopted a high-pitched, whimpering voice. "'Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric!' Who's Cedric — your boyfriend?"

"I — you're lying —" said Harry automatically. But his mouth had gone dry. He knew Dudley wasn't lying — how else would he know about Cedric?

"'Dad! Help me, Dad! He's going to kill me, Dad! Boo-hoo!'"

"Shut up," said Harry quietly. "Shut up, Dudley, I'm warning you!"

"'Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He's killed Cedric! Dad, help me! He's going to —' _Don't you point that thing at me!"_

Dudley backed into the alley wall. Harry was pointing the wand directly at Dudley's heart. Harry could feel fourteen years' hatred of Dudley pounding in his veins — what wouldn't he give to strike now, to jinx Dudley so thoroughly he'd have to crawl home like an insect, struck dumb, sprouting feelers —

"Don't ever talk about that again," Harry snarled. "D'you understand me?"

"Point that thing somewhere else!" "I said, do you understand me?" "Point it somewhere else!"

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM —"

Dudley gave an odd, shuddering gasp, as though he had been doused in icy water.

Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch-black and lightless — the stars, the moon, the misty streetlamps at either end of the alley had vanished. The distant grumble of cars and the whisper of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold. They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding them.

For a split second Harry thought he had done magic without meaning to, despite the fact that he'd been resisting as hard as he could — then his reason caught up with his senses — he didn't have the power to turn off the stars. He turned his head this way and that, trying to see something, but the darkness pressed on his eyes like a weightless veil.

Dudley's terrified voice broke in Harry's ear.

"W-what are you d-doing? St-stop it!"

"I'm not doing anything! Shut up and don't move!"

"I c-can't see! I've g-gone blind! I —"

"I said shut up!"

Harry stood stock-still, turning his sightless eyes left and right. The cold was so intense that he was shivering all over; goose bumps had erupted up his arms, and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up — he opened his eyes to their fullest extent, staring blankly around, unseeing . . .

It was impossible. . . . They couldn't be here. . . . Not in Little Whinging . . . He strained his ears. . . . He would hear them before he saw them. . . .

"I'll t-tell Dad!" Dudley whimpered. "W-where are you? What are you d-do — ?"

"Will you shut up?" Harry hissed, "I'm trying to lis —"

But he fell silent. He had heard just the thing he had been dreading.

There was something in the alleyway apart from themselves, something that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. Harry felt a horrible jolt of dread as he stood trembling in the freezing air.

"C-cut it out! Stop doing it! I'll h-hit you, I swear I will!"

"Dudley, shut —"

WHAM!

A fist made contact with the side of Harry's head, lifting Harry off his feet. Small white lights popped in front of Harry's eyes; for the second time in an hour he felt as though his head had been cleaved in two; next moment he had landed hard on the ground, and his wand had flown out of his hand.

"You moron, Dudley!" Harry yelled, his eyes watering with pain, as he scrambled to his hands and knees, now feeling around frantically in the blackness. He heard Dudley blundering away, hitting the alley fence, stumbling.

"DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!"

There was a horrible squealing yell, and Dudley's footsteps stopped. At the same moment, Harry felt a creeping chill behind him that could mean only one thing. There was more than one.

"DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Wand!" Harry muttered frantically, his hands flying over the ground like spiders. "Where's — wand — come on — _Lumos_!"

He said the spell automatically, desperate for light to help him in his search — and to his disbelieving relief, light flared inches from his right hand — the wand-tip had ignited. Harry snatched it up, scrambled to his feet, and turned around.

His stomach turned over.

A towering, hooded figure was gliding smoothly toward him, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came. Stumbling backward, Harry raised his wand.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A silvery wisp of vapor shot from the tip of the wand and the dementor slowed, but the spell hadn't worked properly; tripping over his feet, Harry retreated farther as the dementor bore down upon him, panic fogging his brain — _concentrate_ —

A pair of gray, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the dementor's robes, reaching for him. A rushing noise filled Harry's ears.

"Expecto Patronum!"

His voice sounded dim and distant. . . . Another wisp of silver smoke, feebler than the last, drifted from the wand — he couldn't do it anymore, he couldn't work the spell-

There was laughter inside his own head, shrill, high-pitched laughter. . . . He could smell the dementor's putrid, death-cold breath, filling his own lungs, drowning him — _Think_. . . something happy. ...

But there was no happiness in him. . . . The dementor's icy fingers were closing on his throat — the high-pitched laughter was growing louder and louder, and a voice spoke inside his head — " _Bow to death, Harry. ... It might even be painless. . . . I would not know. . . . I have never died. . . ."_

He was never going to see Ron and Hermione again — And their faces burst clearly into his mind as he fought for breath —

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

An enormous silver stag erupted from the tip of Harry's wand; its antlers caught the dementor in the place where the heart should have been; it was thrown backward, weightless as darkness, and as the stag charged, the dementor swooped away, batlike and defeated.

"THIS WAY!" Harry shouted at the stag. Wheeling around, he sprinted down the alleyway, holding the lit wand aloft. "DUDLEY? DUDLEY!"

He had run barely a dozen steps when he reached them: Dudley was curled on the ground, his arms clamped over his face; a second dementor was crouching low over him, gripping his wrists in its slimy hands, prizing them slowly, almost lovingly apart, lowering its hooded head toward Dudley's face as though about to kiss him. . . .

"GET IT!" Harry bellowed, and with a rushing, roaring sound, the silver stag he had conjured came galloping back past him. The dementor's eyeless face was barely an inch from Dudley's when the silver antlers caught it; the thing was thrown up into the air and, like its fellow, it soared away and was absorbed into the darkness. The stag cantered to the end of the alleyway and dissolved into silver mist.

Moon, stars, and streetlamps burst back into life. A warm breeze swept the alleyway. Trees rustled in neighboring gardens and the mundane rumble of cars in Magnolia Crescent filled the air again. Harry stood quite still, all his senses vibrating, taking in the abrupt return to normality. After a moment he became aware that his T-shirt was sticking to him; he was drenched in sweat.

He could not believe what had just happened. Dementors here, in Little Whinging. . .

Dudley lay curled up on the ground, whimpering and shaking. Harry bent down to see whether he was in a fit state to stand up, but then heard loud, running footsteps behind him; instinctively raising his wand again, he spun on his heel to face the newcomer.

Mrs. Figg, their batty old neighbor, came panting into sight. Her grizzled gray hair was escaping from its hairnet, a clanking string shopping bag was swinging from her wrist, and her feet were halfway out of her tartan carpet slippers. Harry made to stow his wand hurriedly out of sight, but —

"Don't put it away, idiot boy!" she shrieked. "What if there are more of them around? Oh, I'm going to kill Mundungus Fletcher!"


	2. A Surprising Squib

**Thank you to everyone for your patience and your encouragement! Chapters 2-6 are being replaced today, so sorry for spamming you all!**

 **I am planning on updating again next week, so stay tuned!**

 **Chapter 2**

 **A Surprising Squib**

Harry was dumbfounded. He stood in front of Dudley, staring at Mrs. Figg slack jawed, waiting for her to speak- to make sense of the situation.

"Keep that wand out, Potter. Mark my words Mundungus will get an ear full from me- I'll kill him! Not to mention what Molly will have to say—"

"I'm sorry, you're a witch?" Harry had snapped his mouth shut with an audible click of his teeth. He peered at her through his glasses, hand now firmly on his wand again- Mrs. Figg did not seem like a witch, her habit of hoarding cats aside.

The frail woman considered him for a moment and pulled her floral dressing gown tighter about her shoulders. With a furtive glance up and down the alley she answered him.

"A squib- come on, get him up- we can't stay here. _They_ may come back."

Harry regarded her a moment longer before securing his wand in his back pocket and leaning down to hoist Dudley back to his feet- something that took a considerable effort seeing as Dudley seemed to have been reduced to a great puddle of nerves and sniveling.

"We need to get off the street, first and foremost. I'll firecall Albus- Come on!" She barked at Dudley who was slumping over again, seemingly unable to support his own girth. "Dear me, he's in a right state. We can't take him back to his parents like that- back to mine then, there's really nothing for it…"

Harry listened to her nervous babble as he grabbed Dudley by the bicep and tried to steer him down the street. With some prompting and quite a bit of leaning on Harry's much narrower frame, Dudley managed to move forward, albeit at a shaky and slow pace.

The odd trio limped up the street, past the windows of Magnolia Crescent, each reflecting back the bluish hue of the evening news on the telly. Mrs. Figg trotted back and forth, alternating between checking around corners ahead of them and coming back, either to berate Harry to move more quickly or to reassert her displeasure with the situation at large.

"What a louse!" She growled, "Mundungus knows I'll not be any good should something happen- and look at this!" She gestured wildly- "He skives off and not a half hour later there are dementors running amok! In Little Whinging!"

They reached the door of her home and she stood aside in the entry hall as Harry edged through the door, supporting most of Dudley's fantastic weight, to deposit him in one of the fur covered, overstuffed arm chairs in her parlor.

No sooner had Harry released his cousin and staggered away from him, did Dudley lean over and vomit all over the plush pink carpeting in front of him.

"Oh my- Are you sure they didn't get him? No of course not- he's still capable of making a mess all over my carpet isn't he?" Mrs. Figg did not look pleased with the mess covering her floor. "Sit down, Harry, dear. I'm going to make a few calls-"

She leapt away, more agile than Harry had assumed a woman as boney as Mrs. Figg could be, as Dudley hurled again. "Perhaps a healer first…"

She puttered around the pool of vomit on the floor to the fireplace, tossing a bit of sparking floo powder into the unlit grate as she knelt.

"St. Mungo's!" She called, and thrust her head inside of the green flames that sprung into being.

Harry fell onto a paisley patterned sofa with a grunt and only vaguely registered a tabby cat leaping into his lap. He stroked it once and let out a hysterical giggle as he thought of Professor McGonagall's animagus form and what she would say if he dared attempt to pet _her_.

A loud screech shocked him right back out of his seat as a barn owl soared through the still open front door. Several cats hissed and scrambled for cover as it swooped toward Harry.

The bird dropped an envelope onto the coffee table, heavily laden with tabloids and newspapers, of both the muggle and wizard variety, and took off through the door. Harry hurried behind the bird and shut and locked the door, peering out one final time at the darkening sky before shuffling over to the table to see what had been delivered.

His heart sank when he saw the creamy parchment and official Ministry seal.

He had just picked it up when Mrs. Figg backed out of the fire place and the flames roared a bright green.

A robust little man wearing white Healer's robes stepped out, carrying a large carpet bag in his left hand. He took a cursory glance about the room, spotted Dudley and the pool of vomit and immediately drew his wand.

Harry gave a small cry and his wand was pointed at the man in an instant.

"Who are you?" He demanded.

"Easy lad- I'm a Healer! Abram Dohrman- I'm on the night shift at St. Mungo's, responding to the firecall..."

The man raised his hands in a nonthreatening manner and raised his bushy eyebrows at Harry.

"May I?" Dohrman gestured at the vomit on the floor.

Harry nodded quickly, shoving his wand away and turning to hide his embarrassment at pulling a wand on a man who was clearly here to help, now that Harry had a moment to reflect.

With a flick, the man had vanished Dudley's mess on the floor. He walked swiftly over to large boy and pushed his head back against the chair, muttering under his breath and twirling his wand over Dudley's chest.

The man was left handed, Harry noticed absently, still too embarrassed to look up properly. The healer did not seem to be a threat and Harry was exhausted.

"Mrs. Figg-" Dohrman began, with a glance over his shoulder, "This young man is a muggle, yes?"

Mrs. Figg nodded her assent.

"Hmm…" The man riffled through his carpet bag, thrusting his arm in up to the shoulder before drawing out a bar of chocolate. "And could you explain how a muggle bears all the tell tale signs of exposure to a dementor?"

Mrs. Figg shot him a sharp glance. "I really couldn't tell you, Healer- dementors roaming the streets of Surry? It's lucky the boy had his cousin with him!"

The Healer turned his attention to Harry.

"And you are what- sixteen? You're telling me that you dealt with the dementors then?" Dohrman lifted his bushy eyebrows at Harry, in obviously incredulity.

"When Sirius Black broke out of Azkaban the Ministry set the dementors to guard Hogwarts. Professor Lupin thought it prudent to teach students to repel them." The last bit might have been stretching the truth since, as far as Harry knew, he was the only student to receive private lessons from Lupin.

The man tutted but shuffled over to Harry and performed the same charm as he had on Dudley, and seemed to confirm that Harry only needed a bit of chocolate as well. Dohrman's grey eyes searched Harry's face as he bit off a chunk of the offered bar, and widened when they found the scar on Harry's forehead, plainly visible through his sweaty bangs.

"You're Harry Potter!" He began excitedly, before Mrs. Figg interrupted.

"Fantastic- the bill then, please. Mr. Potter and his cousin have had a rough night and I am sure they'd like a spot of coffee and some rest." Mrs. Figg held out her hand expectantly.

Healer Dohrman stammered for a moment before pulling a small pad and a long green quill from his bag and scribbling out a receipt and handing it over to Mrs. Figg. His eyes darted back to Harry's scar several times.

"Wonderful! Thank you, Healer- you've been ever so helpful!" Mrs. Figg was bundling him back into the fireplace and with a flash of green, the man had disappeared from the living room. Mrs. Figg folded the bill crispy and handed it to Harry at once. He stuffed it unceremoniously into the pocket of his trousers.

Harry stared at Mrs. Figg as he munched on his brick of chocolate. He had never seen the diminutive woman act with such authority in his life. Where was the woman who cooed over ugly tom-cats and served tea with enthusiasm matched only by Aunt Petunia?

"Finish your chocolate Dear, I'll need to place a call to the Order, and we'll see about getting you somewhere a bit more safe than this," She flapped her hand through the air, to indicate the whole of Little Whinging Harry thought, and ducked back down to thrust her head back into her fireplace.

Harry sank back down onto the sofa, glanced at Dudley's hulking frame, and settled in to his chocolate bar.


	3. Improper Use of Magic

**Chapter 3**

 **Improper Use of Magic**

Harry nibbled on his chocolate, it was rather more bitter than he preferred but it was helping to chase away the remnants of cold that the demontors had left. He was grateful to have it.

Dudley seemed to be perking up a bit as well, though more slowly than Harry. He sprawled in his chair and groaned, holding his head with one beefy while the other nervously rubbed at the fabric of his trousers.

Harry shifted and leaned forward to set his chocolate aside on the coffee table, well out of reach of Dudley, when his eyes fell on the Ministry letter again. His stomach twisted as he reached for it, dread settling heavily in his gut.

He tore the heavy envelope open and plucked out the letter folded inside.

 _Mr. Potter:_

 _The Improper Use of Magic Office has received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm in a Muggle area and in the presence of a Muggle at approximately 9:13pm this evening._

 _Due to the defensive nature of your charm, in accordance with section 14b of the International Confederation of Wizard's Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 in the morning, on August 12_ _th_ _, inquiry pending._

 _At the time of your hearing, your continued enrollment at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be reviewed and any disciplinary measures deemed appropriate will be levied. Please arrive promptly, with your wand._

 _Any further use of underage magic will result in your immediate expulsion from Hogwarts and the destruction of your wand._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Mafalda Hopkirk._

Harry blinked. He hadn't been expelled? The tension in his stomach lessened slightly. A disciplinary hearing couldn't be so horrible, could it? Dumbledore would never allow him to be expelled- not with Voldemort back.

The thought bolstered his spirits more than the chocolate had.

He breathed a sigh of relief and noticed Mrs. Figg watching him closely, her face streaked with soot from the fireplace. He wordlessly handed her the letter. She read it quickly and sucked in a sharp breath.

"You are _exceedingly_ lucky, Mr. Potter." Mrs. Figg handed the letter back to him and stood up. "Though this hearing could be a nasty thing- if you want an old woman's advice, you should seek legal counsel before this hearing. The wizarding world is a bit up in arms at the moment and you have enemies in the Ministry-"

"Fudge, you mean." Harry stated. Mrs. Figg inclined her head.

"Among others. You may be too famous to expel outright, especially after your tournament win, but that doesn't mean that you are beyond the Ministry's reach. Dragging you through the mud has been Fudge's favorite activity for the past month," She gestured to the numerous copies of the Daily Prophet that covered the table in front of Harry. "There are those who would call you an attention seeker-"

"I've been called worse-" Harry began hotly.

"I'm sure, Dearie. But think a moment would you? Use your head- You'll not get anywhere if half the Wizarding World thinks that you are an attention seeking brat! And that's how Fudge will spin this- no offense dear, but you really haven't the foggiest idea how the legal system works in the Wizarding World. You need representation." Mrs. Figg said the last bit firmly, meeting Harry's eyes with a scowl.

"I- you're right," Harry admitted, "I don't know any lawyers. I didn't know that the Wizarding world had lawyers, let alone how to go about hiring one."

"No, I don't suppose that you would, Dear," Mrs. Figg softened and patted his hand sympathetically. "I'll speak to Albus and I'll ask around. I've still got a few friends from when I was young. Not many like to keep in touch with an old squib, mind, but the ones who do are the ones worth knowing."

Mrs. Figg patted Harry's hand again and tottered back over to the fireplace, tossing a pinch of floo powder once again and kneeling to stick her head into the hearth calling out an unfamiliar name. Harry watched for a moment, and then directed his attention to Dudley.

The large boy was still slumped in the arm chair, but he seemed to be dozing. Every few moments he would snort and jump, waking up momentarily. In any other situation, Harry would have found it immensely funny, but with all the excitement of the evening, Harry was too tired to find much humor in it.

A loud knock startled Harry out of his musing. A quick glance at Mrs. Figg confirmed that her head was still in the fireplace, so Harry stood, stretched, and made his way to answer the incessant knocking.

He peered out the window next to the door and a tired smile split his face. He turned the deadbolt and yanked the door open to reveal a very haggard looking werewolf standing on the stoop, wringing his hands.

"HARRY-" Remus Lupin moved to embrace Harry, but stopped himself quickly. He looked Harry up and down with a wary glint in his eye before asking, "What shape does my boggart take?"

"What? A moon- professor, what's going on -" Harry was silenced as Remus pulled him into a rough hug.

Harry was rather taken aback, Remus was rarely so forward- in the past he had clapped Harry on the back, or patted his arm when he had done well or was in need of comforting. Now he was being held at arm's length and looked over with a critical eye.

"Thank Merlin you're alright, Harry. Everyone's quite worked up- someone saw the Ministry missive go out, and we can't find Mundungus- the whole thing is rather a mess. But at least you are safe- Arabella?"

The tall man leaned around Harry to call out into the house. No answer came, so Harry beckoned him inside and lead the way to the parlor. Dudley snorted himself awake upon their entrance and squeaked when he saw Remus' imposing frame in the doorway.

Mrs. Figg was just pulling back from the hearth, dusting soot from the shoulders of her floral dressing gown. She jumped up in surprise when she saw Lupin.

"Remus - oh it's awful! To think, if Harry didn't know that spell- and Mundungus! I'll kill him when I get my hands on him!" She wrung her bony hands until Lupin reached out and gently pulled them apart.

"You may have to wait in line - Molly is through the roof, and everyone else is worried about Harry as well. That's why I'm here actually- I'm to collect him and take him back to Headquarters. Obviously Little Whinging isn't as safe as we thought-"

Mrs. Figg cut Lupin off with an angry snort.

"I should think not! Dementors, Remus! Here! I'd have never imagined it! What is the Ministry coming to? They can't even control their own prison guards!" She sat down with a huff and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "I'll be leaving once you've taken the boy- I'll talk to Albus and find something else a bit safer for an old squib- this can't have been a coincidence! The only wizard in the city and they happen upon him? When Mundungus is nowhere to be found? Hmpf!"

"It's something we shall have to address, Bella," Lupin agreed. He turned to Harry with a raised brow. "Are you ready? We need to return to Headquarters- Sirius is climbing the walls, any longer and I'm not sure there will be a building to return to!"

Harry perked up at that. He was going to see Sirius!

"I've got to get my things- we are just down the street from the Dursley's-"

"No time, I'm afraid. We will send someone for them in the morning. You have your wand? Yes- good!" Lupin rounded on Dudley who had managed to do an exemplary job of silently cowering as far back in his armchair as his girth would allow. "You can make it home safely?" Dudley gave a shaky nod and scrambled to his feet before shuffling out the door with his back to the room and his hands over his bottom.

Lupin stood at the window and watched him scurry down the street with a small frown twisting his features. He dropped the lacy curtain after a few moments and gestured Harry to the front door where he offered him a scrap of parchment.

Harry took it with a quizzical look at his old professor and eyed the note, written in a flamboyant magenta ink:

 _The Headquarters for The Order of the Phoenix can be found at Number 12 Grimmauld Place._

Harry had barely finished reading the short missive when Lupin tapped it with his wand and the parchment disintegrated in his hands.

"Bella, someone- probably Bill- will be by tomorrow morning, no later than 9, to collect Harry's things and to update you," He hesitated a moment before hugging the old woman gently. "Thank you so much for finding Harry- the Order is grateful- I am grateful."

Lupin beamed at the woman. She did not grin back as he seemed to be expecting her to.

"Oh yes, a good thing I was here! I'll be waiting on whoever it is that comes to collect his things- and I'll be returning to headquarters with them!" She kept grumbling as Remus steered Harry toward the door with a tight grip on his shoulder.

"I shall see you boys when I arrive at Headquarters tomorrow!" She called as the crossed the threshold and Remus whisked them away with a loud _crack!_


	4. To Headquarters

**Chapter 4**

 **To Headquarters**

Harry stumbled as his trainers made contact with the cracked cement of a run-down muggle neighborhood in a part of London Harry had never been to, but he was sure Aunt Petunia would have never stepped foot in. Remus' firm grip stopped Harry from floundering too horribly and gave him a chance to get his wits about him.

The neighborhood was made up of old townhomes, standing four stories high, with dirty windows staring down at the even dirtier street where Harry and Remus stood. There were garbage bins on the curb, overflowing. The sidewalk was cracked and weeds had grown tall between the chunks of cement, far more healthy looking than the small patches of grass below each stoop. Loud music rattled the uppermost windows of number 11, immediately to his left.

As his eyes slid down the row of once grand, now decrepit brick facades, Harry had to blink. Ballooning out from between two of the grimy houses was one made from black stone, with an intricate wrought iron gate with a golden '12' barring them entrance.

"Welcome to Headquarters" Remus muttered before pushing the gate open and striding quickly up the front steps. Harry hurried quickly after him, still peering at the out of place, rather stately home that had clawed its way into existence in front of him.

Remus hadn't made it quite to the front door before it was flung open and a large mass of fur bowled past him and nearly took Harry off his feet.

"Siri- _Snuffles_!" Remus protested, regaining his footing on the top step of the marble staircase.

The massive dog was licking Harry's ears, his tail wagging madly.

Grinning, Harry wrestled the dog's paws from his shoulders and threaded his fingers through his godfather's fur to scratch at his ears.

Sirius gave a contented sigh and nosed Harry's hand for a better angle at which to scratch.

"Inside! Hurry up!" A voice commanded from inside the door. Molly Weasley stood holding the door open with a disapproving glare aimed at the giant dog still wagging its tail.

Not wanting to displease the stern Weasley matriarch, all three hurried to comply, piling in through the door before she snapped it shut.

As soon as Mrs. Weasley turned the bolt behind them, Sirius stood upright, a human once again, and pulled Harry into a hug, clapping him heartily on the back.

"I _told_ you to keep your nose clean!" The older man pulled away and held Harry at arms' length, blue eyes searching him for any sign of injury or distress. "Though I bet you got the best of those dementors- after your third year! Two should have been no problem! A chip off the old block, James would have been proud!" Another clap on the back hid Harry's wince at his godfather's praise.

Harry didn't feel as though his misadventure deserved such praise from Sirius- or anyone really. He was acutely aware that he had come disastrously close to losing his wand and place at Hogwarts, if not his soul. Remembering the way that he struggled to produce a Patronus made Harry shiver.

And then there was Dudley, who might be a bully, but who had been terrified and helpless against an evil that he couldn't even see, let alone understand…

"Come on, I'm sure you're hungry- into the kitchen! It's just this way!" Sirius steered Harry across the flagstone foyer, past a grand staircase that wound its way upward, and down a narrow hallway. Harry was appalled to see multiple house elf heads mounted on the wall above him, their ears dropping morosely.

"Sirius- whose house is this?" Harry asked quietly, glancing furtively back at the severed heads. They looked ancient, though none had deteriorated. It seemed that someone had charmed them to stop decay; the better to show them off to guests, he supposed.

"Mine, actually-" Harry's mouth dropped open, something that had happened a lot that night, he noted absently. "It's my parents really- ran away when I was 16. To your dad's- your grandparents were always happy to have me- But I digress. My prat of a brother's dead, and my dear horrid parents departed this world not long after he did. So, it's mine by default. A good thing too, since we've been able to set up shop! Oh Mummy Dearest would have keeled over just seeing this place full of blood traitors and muggleborns! Her portrait is none too happy, that's for sure..."

Sirius was rambling and Harry was having a hard time keeping up while trying to take in the odd mix of opulent and macabre décor around him. The kitchen looked as though it hadn't been renovated since the 1800's and the long wooden table looked as though it may have served as a butcher's block, judging from the numerous hack marks that marred the surface.

"Enough for now, Sirius!" Molly entered the kitchen behind them and took Harry's arm, steering him toward a large table where two people sat huddled, nearly invisible behind a stack of ancient looking tomes

"Sit- and we'll get you a proper spot of supper! You're much too thin Harry! Were the muggles not decent to you this summer? Merlin's beard-"

"HARRY!" For what Harry was sure was the millionth time that night, he was suddenly embraced, an enormous quantity of dark bushy hair obscuring his vision. "Thank goodness!"

Hermione Granger pulled back and beamed at him, one of the books from the table, a massive blue tome, still clutched under her arm.

"Hermione! I didn't know you were here- actually, I don't quite know where here is. Have you been here all summer?" Harry was glad to see his friend, but more than a little put out with her. Both she and Ron- and Ginny and Sirius for that matter- had been absolutely obtuse while writing about their activities over the holiday, never giving him more than a few lines about homework- or playing Quidditch, in Ron and Ginny's cases.

"I- oh Harry! We wanted to tell you! We couldn't, of course, Professor Dumbledore made us swear! There was a chance our letters could be intercepted you see- it was terribly unfair to you, but you're here now!" Hermione searched his face with pleading eyes. "We've got so much to tell you Harry! We'll fill you in, I'm just so happy you're all right! I heard Mrs. Weasley say something in the parlor about dementors-"

"I'm fine, 'Mione. Just a bit of a shock really." Hermione didn't look convinced in the slightest. "No really, Hermione!" Harry dug about in his trouser pocket and came back up with the lime green receipt from the Healer, "Mrs. Figg called a healer from St. Mungos and everything!"

Instead of looking pleased as Harry had expected, Hermione's brown eyes widened until Harry feared they would bug out of her head.

"Mrs. Figg did what, exactly?" Sirius bit off.

Mrs. Weasley looked just as shocked as Hermione. The stranger at the table's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline.

"Remus? Is that what took so long?" Sirius shot off the question before Harry could respond to his first question.

"No- there was no one else there but Harry and Arabella when I arrived. His cousin of course- Harry if I could see the receipt?" He held out his hand to Harry expectantly and carefully took the slip when it was offered.

"Healer Dohrman? I've never heard of them. Have any of you?"

The adults in the room shook their heads and Sirius let out a low growl.

"I'm sorry- I don't understand what the big deal is? Dudley was in a bad way and we'd just been attacked. A healer seemed like a fine idea to me-" Harry began hotly.

"The problem, Harry, is that we don't know who that person is and they had access to you while you were vulnerable!" Sirius slammed his fist down on the table making the man at the other end jump. "It's unacceptable! Arabella should have known better! That healer could have been absolutely anyone! They could have killed you-"

"Well, they didn't-"

"No, but now someone outside of the Order knows where you live Harry! Where your family lives! Not only that, this Healer could go to the press! Make that information public- or the fact that you needed a Healer public! It was irresponsible for Bella to call someone not approved by the Order. Poppy would have been over in a heartbeat had she been summoned- or Emmeline! Voldemort is back Harry, we can't take risks- not with you, Harry." Sirius spoke with an authority that was unfamiliar in his voice, and Harry had little desire to argue with him. "Molly, call Emmeline won't you? We need to have one of ours look him over too- make sure nothing's wrong."

Sirius had regained his grip on Harry's arm and steered him into a seat at the table across from the unknown man, who sat staring at him with dark eyes.

"Are we even sure that this is Harry? No offense, Harry," Sirius hurled the question at Remus and offered a mildly apologetic glance at Harry.

"Padfoot- yes! I followed protocol. He answered a security question, and he's not been behaving oddly. _Calm down_. You aren't helping the situation by flinging around accusations and questions, Sirius," Remus pulled Sirius away from the table with a furrowed brow and the two retreated to a corner to talk in hushed, angry voices.

There was a tense moment at the table before the thin, dark skinned man seated across the table broke it by extending his hand to Harry.

"I am Cavelon Royer, how nice eet iz to meet you." The man spoke with a light French accent and offered a tentative, very white smile. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five.

"Harry Potter, likewise."

"I 'ave heard of you, of course. Even in France you are very famous. My cousins speak most highly of you, especially Gabrielle. I think you 'ave a secret admirer, Monsieur Potter," Royer teased Harry gently and offered him another small smile.

"Gabrielle? Delacour- Fleur is your cousin?" Harry was surprised. The man was good looking, in a bookish sort of way, but he did not resemble Fleur or Gabrielle in the slightest.

"Oui. My mother and Fleur's father are siblings. I do not share her veela heritage, though many would still consider me a half breed," Royer gave Harry a hard look and then glanced down at the blackness of his hands. "Blood status eez not the only way your Lord Voldemort discriminates the worthy from the chaff, Monsieur Potter. Eet eez important to remember that."

Harry blinked, taken aback. He had never considered that before, though he supposed it made sense. If Lucius Malfoy was the purity standard as Draco was prone to claiming, one would have to have quite the homogenous pedigree to measure up.

"No, I suppose it isn't," Harry's eyes lingered over Mr. Royer's face, then darted to Hermione's. Unbidden, he felt his chest tighten thinking about his friend. "One more reason to fight him then, isn't it? Happy to have you here, Mr. Royer."

The Frenchman nodded with a small smile and returned to the book in front of him. Hermione grasped his shoulder and beamed at him again.


	5. Weasley Interlude

**Chapter 5**

 **Weasley Interlude**

Emmeline Vance, an attractive Healer in her mid 30s, declared Harry to be of adequate health, though she felt that he needed to get more exercise and eat a healthier diet. The latter would be much easier in a house where Molly Weasley commanded the kitchen.

By the time Harry had been released from Healer Vance's well-manicured and able hands, it was nearly midnight, and despite the chocolate he had had with Mrs. Figg and the coffee that Mr. Royer had offered him, Harry was flagging.

Hermione had long since retired to bed, still with a smile on her face, and left Harry to the adults. After the debacle with the Healer had been resolved, Sirius had settled down admirably, and was quite thrilled to have his godson close to him, despite the lateness of the hour. It was unsurprising then, when Harry gave a jaw-cracking yawn, that Sirius leapt to his feet to show him to his room.

"Your things will be here in the morning, I'm sure Remus has already told you, the great mother that he is," Sirius chuckled as he lead Harry up the winding staircase.

When passing by one of the familial artifact of note, Sirius would pause and give a brief, and most probably embellished history of the object in question.

"THAT was my twice great Auntie Bertina's chandelier- brought the ghastly thing with her when she married into the family. Claimed it was charmed to always cast a favorable light on those who stood directly under it- probably how she got in with the family, if the portraits are true to life- It fell, twenty years later, or so, and killed her husband, my twice great Uncle Hamish. Apparently, his eldest daughter was so pleased by that fact that she had it charmed so that it could never be taken out of the house, as a memorial to the fact that a light fixture had squashed her arse of a father."

Harry grinned, "Your family sounds erm… charming?"

Sirius barked out a laugh and Harry felt a warm sense of happiness wash over him.

"Maybe a better way to describe them would be 'evil gits', but I suppose 'charming' is a touch more polite- This is your room, you'll be bunking with Ron. Bathroom's right across the hall here," Sirius pointed to another black door with a crystal knob on the other side of the landing, "Fred and George are down the hall, so you'd best watch for errant spells- they are seventeen now and taking _full_ advantage of the benefits. Hermione and Ginny are up a floor, with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. I'm one up from there and there's an empty bunk room up there as well for Order Members who need to stay the night. Remus is here fairly often, probably gets the most use out of it. "

"This is fantastic, Sirius. I'll have the full tour tomorrow; tonight, I'm absolutely knackered." Harry hugged Sirius briefly before retreating to his room and quietly closing the door behind him.

With a smile on his face, Harry turned around and leaned against the door, only to be met with four freckled faced grinning back at him from the half-lit room.

"Ron!" Harry yelped.

The four youngest Weasleys were piled on the two beds, grinning from ear to ear.

"Mate! We've been waiting up for you for _hours_!" One of the twins leapt off the bed and pulled Harry over, forcing him to sit on Ron's trunk so that everyone could see him. "Hermione told us that you'd gotten here, but that was at 'a much more civilized hour'." Whichever twin it was- Harry thought it was Fred- stuck his nose in the air in a passable imitation of Hermione.

"Tell us what happened, mate! We'd heard something about dementors and a hearing at the Ministry before mum sent us all up here! We've been trying to listen in with these," Ron held up a long peach colored string with what looked like a severed human ear at one end, "Fred and George's Extendable Ears!"

"That French bloke wised up though and put up a ward when he left so that we couldn't hear anything past the foyer, though," Ginny groused, before Harry could ask what an Extendable Ear was. "But we are so glad you are safe Harry- I am especially-"

"Shut _up_ , Gin! Mooning over Harry whilst we are interrogating him! I know that you've been pining after him all summer, but please, spare a thought for the rest of us!" George swatted his sister on the shoulder with a sassy harrumph while Fred snickered. Ginny blushed to the roots of her hair, but it was difficult to see in the dimly lit bedroom.

Ron looked a bit put out.

"It's good to be back, guys." Despite his exhaustion and the lingering bitterness regarding his friends' lack of communication over the summer, Harry couldn't help the slow smile that spread across his face.

"Well you've certainly brought a fair bit of drama with you, haven't you mate?" Ron sounded a bit strangled, perhaps still reeling from George's insinuation about Ginny's feelings toward Harry.

"Can't even go a few months without the spotlight, can you? First you win the Tri-Wizard Tournament, now you've got a fancy court date! With the Minister himself, I would wager!" Fred's words would have stung had he not been grinning like the Cheshire cat. The expression made it impossible for Harry to take anything that he said seriously.

"Leave him alone, Fred! You know Harry doesn't ask for this. It just… finds him," Ginny shrugged helplessly. "He's a magnet for trouble."

"Well, tell us the story then! Spare us no details!" Ron leaned forward and waggled his eyebrows at Harry, who sighed and launched into the tale.

By the time that he had finished, leaving off with Remus fetching him from Mrs. Figg's, Ginny's brow was furrowed into a deeply worried expression, though Fred and George seemed more perplexed than concerned.

"How would the dementors have known where to find you?" George asked.

"I've honestly no idea- neither did Remus or Sirius, for that matter. I've got rotten luck, but this couldn't have been a coincidence! Mrs. Figg said I was the only wizard for miles…"

"Well it's obvious, isn't it?" Ron looked at them all as if they were completely stupid. "The Ministry sent them."

"Ronald, I don't think-"

"Shut it, Fred!" Ron barked, "Listen- it makes sense! Who controls the dementors? The Ministry. Who is more than a bit peeved at Harry right now, for claiming You-Know-Who is back? Fudge- the Minister for Magic. A man who could order the dementors to do whatever he wanted. He certainly hasn't been quiet about discrediting Harry and Dumbledoor! Think about it!"

"…Ron may actually have a point, loathe as I am to admit it," Ginny was frowning again, "The Ministry is the smartest bet the only bet we have at the moment, which makes me wonder: How safe will you be walking in to your hearing in a few weeks?"

Harry shrugged.

"I don't think they'd arrest him straight off. What would be the point of setting up a hearing, if they were? It all seems very legal, very proper." George reasoned.

Harry grimaced, "Mrs. Figg recommended getting a lawyer. She's supposed to come by tomorrow with a few names."

"A smart woman, that Arabella Figg," George murmured, "And you said there was a Healer not from the Order who looked you over?" Harry nodded. "Well shite, mate."

"What? Sirius had about the same reaction, but I don't see what the big deal is-"

"The Order would have wanted to keep this quiet. They're trying to keep _out_ of the headlines at the moment. Imagine what the _Prophet_ will have to say! ' _Tri-Wizard Winner Off His Rocker! Claims You-Know-Who Is Back! Firing Potronuses Into The Air!'_ " George waved his arms about his head and pulled an ugly face.

"They'd launch a smear campaign!" Ron exclaimed. "They can't expel you! You're too famous, especially after last year, but they can make you look like a nutter. No one would take you seriously."

"Well that's bloody fantastic- nothing new considering the way everyone at Hogwarts acted last term. For once- just once! I'd love to have a quiet, uninterrupted school year!" Harry was exasperated, it seemed things never went his way, no matter that he had been minding his business this summer. Ginny was right; he was a magnet for trouble.

"Well the solution is rather obvious Harry- there's no need to sulk- we just get ahead of them! Fight back! Make you out to be the victim-"

"I _am_ the victim!" Harry huffed.

"Shush- don't interrupt, Harry, it's rude," Ginny waved him away, "Anyway, yes, you _are_ the victim, but that's not what the Ministry will say. At best they'll make you out to be some ponce who thinks he's above the law. At worst…." Ginny trailed off. Harry didn't need her to spell out exactly how bad it could be. "We need to get your story out there too- silence will only make you look guilty."

The five of them sat silently for a long moment, gazing hopelessly around at one another. Ron was the one who broke the heavy silence.

"Hermione has that… erm, contact, at the _Prophet_ , Harry. D'you think we should talk to her?"

Harry considered for a moment. If the Ministry was going to try to defame him by painting him as some sort of lunatic, he couldn't sit idly by and allow them to slander him.

"Yeah- I think we should talk to her in the morning- set something up. I'm sure any news of my… adventure will be in the morning _Prophet_. We can plan from there." Harry felt a rush of adrenaline as he confirmed their plan.

He wasn't going to be the victim this time. This time, he was taking control of his image- he wasn't Rita Skeeter's play thing. Come tomorrow, pending a carefully worded note, she would be working for him.


	6. Schemes

**Chapter 6**

 **Schemes**

Harry woke to an empty bedroom lit only by the sunshine filtering in through the gauzy yellow curtains at the window. Someone had brought his trunk and Hedwig's cage up to his room while he slept and arranged them on his half of the room. Ron's bed was also neatly made, unusual for the redhead.

Harry was perturbed for a moment, at the thought of someone coming and going from his room so quietly. A moment later, he remembered the convenient existence of house elves and resolved to find out if there was one in residence.

Feeling refreshed after a decent night of sleep without dreams of Cedric's corpse in the graveyard, or long hallways that lead to nowhere, Harry stretched and began his morning routine.

The bathroom across the landing was as lavishly appointed as the rest of the house, though it stayed true to theme and looked as though it hadn't been updated in the last century, if the heavy claw footed tub were any indication.

Having washed himself and brushed his hair down as flat as he could, Harry set off to find the rest of the inhabitants of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, firmly ignoring the mirror in the bathroom that recommended a hairstyle more befitting of a young wizard, and not a 'ragamuffin child of the streets'.

When he appeared at the bottom of the stairs, his senses were overwhelmed with the scents of a full English breakfast drifting from the kitchen, and the cacophony of voices emanating from the same place.

Ignoring the severed heads of house elves from generations past, Harry entered the kitchen to find it full of people.

Weasleys dominated the room; a quick survey confirmed that seven redheads were in attendance. In addition to the four youngest Harry had talked to last night, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were there, chatting to their eldest son, Bill. The individual sitting next to Bill, however, took Harry by surprise.

Fleur Delacour occasionally stroked a slender hand down Bill's arm or tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear, rarely engaging in conversation with her the Weasley parents, preferring instead to spear small bites of egg to bring up to Bill's mouth.

She rose and smiled at Harry when she caught his gaze. Her robes, while not immodest, showed rather more skin than Harry was used to seeing witches display and left his throat dry.

"'Arry!" She strode over with the same confidence that she had displayed last year at Hogwarts and kissed both of his cheeks, making them redden. Without the Tri-Wizard Tournament labeling her as an opponent, she suddenly seemed much more attractive. "'Ow 'have you been? Eet has not been so long, but already you are in trouble again, oui?"

She held up the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_ and offered it to Harry. Sure enough, a large picture, a rather unflattering one of him being pulled away from Cedric Diggory's dead body, flashed across the front page of the paper under the headline, _Harry Potter's Breaks Statute of Secrecy!_

Gritting his teeth, Harry began to read:

 _Ministry officials confirm that Harry Potter, most notable for his defeat of You-Know-Who as an infant and his recent victory in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, has been dealt an official summons for using magic in the presence of a muggle last evening, violating the centuries old Statute of Secrecy, as well as flouting the laws that restrict underage wizards from using magic outside of educational situations._

 _The Ministry was unable to provide more detail, however Minister Cornelius Fudge expressed his concern for Mr. Potter saying, "the boy has been under a great deal of stress as of late- the death of his friend Mr. Diggory, still unsolved, and the pressures of fame and the Tri-Wizard Tournament on someone so young. It's exactly the reason we imposed an age limit on the tournament last year- which Mr. Potter chose to undermine. It is regrettable, yet unsurprising, that the boy is unstable. Rest assured, the Ministry has no intention of treating this case any differently because of Mr. Potter's celebrity. No one is above the law!"_

 _This reporter agrees with Minister Fudge; Mr. Potter, age 14, should be bound by the same laws and restrictions that all decent witches and wizards adhere to, rather than flaunting his fame in an attempt to avoid the consequences of his actions, as the young man has a history of doing, according to Hogwarts student and Head Boy, Adrian Pucey, 17._

 _In his latest publicity stunt, Potter risks not only his own safety, but the safety of the entire wizarding community._

 _For more on the history of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, see page 14. For further information on the creation of the European Confederation of Wizards, see page 3._

Harry closed his eyes. Really, it was about what he expected, certainly they could have said worse things about him, however the jibe at Cedric's death angered him, as well as Fudge's blatant disregard of evidence that proved that Harry had not entered himself in the tournament.

"Chin up, Dear," Mrs. Weasley chided, scooping a large helping of eggs onto his plate. "It's not as if it's true, is it? Turn the other cheek, I've always said. Everyone here knows that you would never expect to be treated any differently than the next wizard in line!"

"That not the point, Mum! The _Prophet_ is lying! Fudge is lying! And they are calling _Harry_ a liar! And most people don't know Harry like we do-"Ginny was on the verge of an angry rant.

"Dear, it's printed- there really isn't anything we can do now, except write the editor with our thoughts," Mrs. Weasley's tone left little room for argument as she refilled Arthur's glass of juice.

Ginny looked ready to retort but a shake of Hermione's head silenced her. Oddly, Hermione was seated between Fred and George and seemed to be having a whispered conversation with them at the far end of the table. As Harry watched, she grinned up at him and began scribbling on a piece of parchment.

Sirius dropped into a chair across from Harry and gave the newspaper a dirty look, as if it had just complimented his mother.

"It's a gossip rag, Harry. You know that- they rarely print anything based in fact and its controlled by the Ministry- nothing comes out of there without some sort of spin to paint Fudge and his lackeys in a more favorable light! Molly's right though, enough letters to the editor might make them change their tune, or at least get them to back off you. We could even toss out that some bloke over in Ireland, or Latvia or wherever, caught sight of me! That would give them something to talk about!"

Harry cracked a smile at his godfather's offer and began shoveling food into his mouth. As ever, Mrs. Weasley's cooking was heavenly. He told her so, and earned a pinched cheek and a pat on the head for his manners.

Hermione excused herself from the table, saying that she needed to owl her parents to have some books sent from home. She hurried out of the room, parchment clutched in her hand, and ducked under the arm of a new arrival in the doorway.

Conversation halted for a moment as a shockingly colorful young woman strolled through the door with Mrs. Figg in tow. Harry's eyebrows climbed his forehead as the woman, dressed in torn stockings, heavy boots, and a purple t-shirt with the logo of a popular muggle band splashed across it, plopped down in the chair across from him and pulled a plate of eggs and bacon toward her.

She moaned as she ate and her hair, previously bubblegum pink faded to a happy yellow reminiscent of the curtains in Harry's new room.

"Harry, my lovely cousin Nymphadora-"

"Don't call me that, Sirius!"

"Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to go by Tonks, only." Sirius finished with a broad grin at Tonks.

"Wotcher," The woman said around a mouthful of eggs. "Refer to me as anything other than Tonks, and I'll hex your toes to your forehead!" She swallowed and smiled at Harry.

He couldn't tell if she was joking or not and decided a polite smile and nod were his safest options. "Nice to meet you, Tonks."

Mrs. Figg sat down at his other side and ignored a pointed glare from Sirius. "I've a list of lawyers for you, dear, for your hearing. My niece recommended three- all with a good history of winning their cases, she assures me," Mrs. Figg slid a thin notebook across the wooden table to Harry.

Before he got a chance to open it, Sirius snatched it up and flicked it open.

"We have a Mr. Alfie Brown, Rupert Halloway, and Barnaby Antar. Well, I've been in prison or on the run for the last twelve years, might not be the best judge of character in this case-" Sirius let out a forced laugh, "Arthur, your take on these gentlemen? We wouldn't want Arabella to take matters into her own hands again- it turned out so well for us last time." Sirius brandished the morning _Prophet_ at her.

Mrs. Figg leveled a cold glare at Sirius and suddenly the kitchen was tense. No one moved until Mr. Weasley cleared his throat.

"Rupert Holloway…. I've heard the name around the Ministry enough. A well-liked man, usually represents wealthier clients, sometimes corporate groups- the _Prophet_ and such." Mr. Weasley pulled a face. "Though, with what has been written about you, Harry, you may not want to seek out a friend of the Ministry- or the _Prophet_ \- for help."

"Too right, Arthur! Alfie Brown, or Barnaby Antar?" Sirius asked.

"Mr. Brown, I believe, is the father of your classmate- Lavender, isn't it?" Arthur asked, looking around at his children.

Ginny snorted violently.

"Well then, he's right out- Lavender is the biggest gossip in Hogwarts, next to Pansy Parkinson. The entire world will be in on your case if she's anywhere near it!" Ginny folded her arms, "Who's the last one?"

"Mr. Barnaby Antar, works with the Department of International Magical Cooperation - international law and the like- a good chap I've heard, don't know much about him aside from that," Mr. Weasley looked please to have been able to help and fluffed the paper out in front of him.

"Mr. Antar may be our best choice, if you feel you need legal representation, Harry- you know the Ministry might think it a bit suspicious of you to lawyer up for a simple matter of underage magic-" Sirius began.

Mrs. Figg cut him off with a peal of laughter.

"Rich, coming from you, Sirius Black! 'If you feel you need legal representation'! Need I remind you that you were imprisoned for a crime you didn't commit! For 12 years? A lawyer would have been a great help to you, all those years ago!"

Sirius opened and closed his mouth with a shocked look on his face.

"Well I- no one ever told me… I didn't have a chance to ask for one! I never even had a trial!" Sirius sputtered. He dragged his hands over his face before coming back up and fixing Harry with a hard look.

"Harry? Do you think that you need a lawyer?"

Harry glanced between him, Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Figg, finding expectant looks on each of their faces, though he was sure that they expected very different answers. Cautiously, he nodded.

"Alright then, Arabella," Sirius said. "You've made your point. Harry- we'll set up an appointment with Mr. Antar as soon as possible. Remus can do it... I'll contact him now."

Sirius stood from the table and shuffled over to the fireplace, leaving a gob smacked assembly behind him. Mrs. Figg sat back in her seat with a small smile and turned to Tonks, whose hair had gone completely white.

"I love your hair, Dear, it reminds me of an opal necklace my late husband, Richard, gave me for our tenth wedding anniversary!"

With that, conversation slowly returned, prominently lead by Fred and George who had taken to asking Tonks to morph different features of her face until she resembled some sort of hodge-podge creature with a duck's bill, bull's horns and skunk-like hair.

Harry knocked on Hermione and Ginny's bedroom door after excusing himself from breakfast. Mrs. Weasley had waved him away from helping wash up and instead called upon Fleur to help her. The French girl had made a face when she thought no one was looking, but had risen gracefully to help Mrs. Weasley at the sink.

After a beat, Hermione cracked open the door and invited Harry inside what was a much grander bedroom than the one he shared with Ron. A lush white carpet lined the floor in front of a marble fireplace. Two canopy beds dominated the room, one with a light pink comforter, the other's a light blue.

"Your room is _much_ nicer than mine!" Harry exclaimed.

"Fleur came up and helped make it a bit more homey- she did the carpet and the bed frames, and the curtains. Fred and George offered, but Ginny didn't trust them not to turn the carpet into cobwebs or something worse…I think she's trying very hard to get Ginny and Mrs. Weasley to like her. She certainly likes Bill," Hermione explained.

"What's not to like about Fleur?" Harry asked, thinking about the pretty veela's silvery hair and fit physique. She was easily the most attractive woman Harry had ever seen.

Hermione snacked his shoulder.

"Erm- all I mean is that she seems nice?" Harry hoped that would appease the witch opposite him and was relieved when she only crossed her arms, rather than hitting him again.

"Well Bill's Mrs. Weasley's oldest, isn't he? And Ginny's always been the only girl. Fleur's presence is…unexpected. I don't think anyone thought she and Bill were so serious as to have her here all the time."

"Why is she here? The way Sirius and Remus were carrying on, it seemed like the Order is pretty secretive," Harry asked.

"Oh, it is! There really aren't that many people in the Order at all, you've met most of them by now! But her cousin, Mr. Royer? He's a fantastically well-known researcher. He's got a dozen or so spells credited to him! And Harry-" Hermione lowered her voice and her tone became incredibly serious, "Just because our Ministry isn't taking you and Dumbledore seriously about You-Know-Who, there are other governments who are.

"Haven't you been reading the _Prophet_ at all? There's a new international council being set up, though Britain is reluctant to join. It seems that everyone _else_ was disturbed by Cedric's death. Karakaroff has disappeared. You came back from the maze injured and we caught a Death Eater inside of Hogwarts! The French can tell that something is wrong, and Germany is right behind them. Even the United States has taken an interest…"

Harry was surprised. He hadn't been reading the _Prophet_ ; he'd gotten tired of the gossip within a week of returning to Privet Drive. Now he regretted it and felt remarkably out of the loop.

"People believe me then?" His own voice was nearly a whisper and he was desperately trying to tamp down on the ray of hope that struggled to blossom in his chest.

"They believe that something is wrong, and that Fudge is an idiot," Hermione said. "You should talk to Mr. Royer when he is here next, he might do a better job of explaining foreign powers and political tensions than I would."

Harry nodded. "I will, thank you Hermione."

"Was there something specific that you wanted, Harry? Beyond mooning over Fleur?" Hermione's voice had lost the serious tone and now bordered on teasing. A pretty smile stretched over her face and Harry absently noticed that her front teeth looked much better proportioned than they had been the last time he saw her.

"No- I wanted to ask if the others had talked to you… about our friend at the _Daily Prophet_ , and Ginny's idea to erm… get ahead of the gossip." Harry scratched his head, suddenly feeling very like this plot was rather brash. It all hinged on Hermione being able to lasso Skeeter with her animagus secret.

"Ron told me this morning before breakfast and I have to say, I was surprised Ginny came up with this, it seems a bit subtle for her, though she has grown up a bit, hasn't she?" Hermione trailed off, looking thoughtful.

"You think it's a bad idea then- too risky?" Harry wasn't sure if he was relieved, or put out. He certainly wanted to be active in the fight against Voldemort, but this didn't feel like fighting Voldemort. This felt like self-promotion.

"Oh no, I absolutely think that we should talk to Rita. It's a good idea, especially after reading that article downstairs!" Hermione scrunched her nose in distaste. "I've already sent off a letter, reminding her that I know some juicy gossip of my own and that she owes us."

She'd already sent a letter? That was a bit quicker than he had anticipated… Harry wasn't quite sure how he felt about the entire scenario, it seemed rather Slytherin to him. Though letting the _Prophet_ continue to slander him was absolutely out of the question, the mere thought set Harry on edge. He had made a decision.

"Alright, then. I trust you, Hermione." Harry said after a moment.

Hermione beamed at him again. It was a look Harry found he could get accustomed to.

"Just one thing, Harry- we haven't told any of the adults about this… and we don't really plan to."


	7. The Pen

**Chapter 7**

 **The Pen**

Harry lurched upright with a gasp.

Without his glasses, he couldn't make out any of the dark shapes around him. His heart was in his throat and, he realized rather suddenly, his wand was in his hand.

An abrupt snore from the a few feet away reminded him of where he was. And, more sharply, where he was not.

In his dream, he had been back in the graveyard, Cedric lying dead at his feet as he struggled against the ropes binding him to the gravestone of Tom Riddle Sr. Voldemort's words echoed in his head as he wiped away the sweat that had beaded on his forehead.

 _Now bow._

It wasn't the first time that he had had such a nightmare. He usually couldn't make it through the night without visiting the graveyard or a strange hallway made of black stone than stretched out in front of him. One was a memory, Harry knew. The other, he thought, must be his minds' manifestation of his anxiety and frustration with how little he knew of Voldemort's plans.

A sharp tap at the window caught Harry's attention and pulled him from the bed. He caught up his glasses from his nightstand and placed them on his nose as he crossed the room to the window.

It was nearly dawn; the sky was a light grey color and looked as though it promised rain later in the day. A small barn owl stood outside on the sill, glaring at Harry as he undid the latch. As soon as the window had been opened, it hopped inside and thrust out it's leg impatiently.

Harry untied the letter from its carrier and the bird nipped him hard on the finger before taking flight and soaring back out of the window.

Harry sucked on his injured finger and turned the letter over curiously in his hands. The parchment was an offending fuchsia color and had the faint smell of a cheap perfume about it. Harry immediately thought that he knew who sent it.

He opened the short scroll and his eyes darted to the bottom of the page before he began reading.

His suspicions were confirmed with the name carved into the letter with enough pressure to emboss the parchment. _Rita Skeeter_. This was her response to Hermione's letter, then. She had certainly responded quickly. Harry hoped that was a good thing.

 _Dear Mr. Potter,_

 _I must say, I didn't think that you and your heinous little friends would keep up your end of our bargain- I half expected a hearing of my own. As you can see, I've kept up my end: nothing negative from me in the Daily Prophet- though you certainly don't need my help in gaining negative press coverage._

 _I cannot say that I am surprised that you have contacted me in your time of great need. You are being absolutely_ _slaughtered_ _by Fudge and the media. I_ _am_ _surprised that it has taken you this long to do anything about it._

 _I will help you Mr. Potter, but my quill comes at a price._

 _In return for some friendly press, which you desperately need, I shall require that I have exclusive rights to you. That means that you will take my owls, meet for interviews, smile for pictures, and most importantly, you shall contact me and only me if you are about to do something as stupid as enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament._

 _If you accept these terms, write me back with a statement regarding your hearing. I want details, Potter. Make my compliance worth the effort that it will take to bring you back into favorable public opinion._

 _Rita Skeeter_

Harry's eyebrows climbed higher as he read the letter. Skeeter's reluctant compliance was what they had hoped for and expected, given their knowledge of her illegal method of intelligence gathering, but her reply had been more hostile than Harry had expected.

Perhaps they were playing with fire in trying to control the spiteful little woman. It was a gamble, certainly, to trust her to print anything favorable about Harry. And yet, she was really their only hope to combat the Ministry's slander.

They would have to trust her then, Harry decided. He would accept her terms, he didn't find them unreasonable and he didn't think that he could find any other reporter who might be sympathetic or easily controlled.

That thought gave him pause. Controlling Rita Skeeter. It wasn't something that Harry found particularly appealing and it brought to mind a certain blonde family who paid off those who would speak negatively about them. For the second time, Harry considered that this plot was rather underhanded. Ron would call it Slytherin, but then, Ron had helped come up with it…

But the Sorting Hat had said that Harry would do well in Slytherin, that he could be great. Was this what the hat had meant? Was bribery and blackmail the way to greatness?

Did Harry even want to be great?

Another loud snort from Ron's bed interrupted Harry's musings.

 _No,_ Harry thought. If he had to use some less than moral tricks to win the war against Voldemort, then he would. He couldn't act like a Gryffindor all the time, it would be foolish to think that he could win with bravery and chivalry as his only weapons. They would be useful in fighting, but Voldemort had weapons like ambition and cunning, which certainly seemed more suited to winning.

As Ron snored in his bed, Harry sat down at the small desk under the window, lit two of the candles on the desk, and pulled a blank sheet of parchment from the top right drawer

 _Dear Ms. Skeeter_ , Harry began writing. He paused, glaring at the words as they dried on the page. It sounded so formal. Respectful. Harry gave a snort of his own and pulled out a new sheet of parchment. He tried to think of how Lucius Malfoy, or even Snape would answer the venomous reporter.

 _Dear Rita,_

 _Your terms are easy to agree to, who else would I want to sing my praises? I am sure that our agreement can work to our mutual benefit and I assure you that as long as you hold up your end, I bear you no ill will._

 _Below, please see my statement regarding the events that warranted my hearing with the Ministry. I can also give you the names of at least three witnesses, should you like to do a proper job of reporting the incident, though I would prefer that you not name my cousin in the actual story._

 _My statement is as follows:_

 _Two nights ago, I was walking near my home with my cousin when we were both attacked by dementors. Because we were in a highly populated Muggle area, I was extremely surprised to find two dark creatures, supposedly under Ministry control, roaming a muggle neighborhood._

 _It was lucky then, that I had the privilege to learn under Mr. Remus Lupin, who tutored me in the Patronus Charm during my third year at Hogwarts, when dementors guarded the school against Sirius Black. I have faint memories of the night that Voldemort attacked me as a baby, and when the dementors are too near, I am forced to hear my mother's death._

 _Luckily, again, I was able to use the charm to send the dementors away, but my cousin was traumatized. We both escaped with our souls intact, but we were horribly shaken._

 _My neighbor, Mrs. Arabella Figg felt the chill of the dementors and saw us struggling, though no muggles did, and brought us inside her home, where she fetched a healer from St. Mungo's, named Dohrman. He fixed us up right away with some chocolate._

 _I have seen what the Prophet has said about me, and I am sad that the Minister has passed judgement upon my character. I have met Minister Fudge before and he seemed to be a kind man. He has not been so kind to me recently._

 _I am perfectly happy to attend my hearing with the Ministry: I did perform magic outside of school, but I did so in defense of myself and my cousin, who had not method of protection from creatures that he cannot even see. I am confident that the Ministry will get to the truth of the matter, and I plan to offer them my fullest cooperation._

 _I look forward to reading the finished product and to working with you in the future._

 _Your colleague,_

 _Harry Potter_

Harry set his quill aside and reread the letter. He was rather pleased with what he written. It sounded quite professional and cool. He would still ask Hermione and maybe the twins to look over it before sending it with Hedwig, but he felt that it was quite good- definitely Slytherin.

"What'choo doin' up?" Ron muttered from the other side of the room, making Harry jump. "I's early, mate."

"Writing letters, Ron. It's alright if you want to go back to sleep." Harry called over softly. The redhead nodded and flopped back down in to bed, burying his head under the pillows.

Harry folded his letter and slipped it into the pocket of his pajama pants before padding out of his room and down to the kitchen. He didn't know if anyone else would be up this early, but he could smell coffee brewing and the rumbling in his stomach told him that he needed to find something to eat.

Past the long row of severed elf heads, Harry pushed open the heavy wooden door and slipped into the kitchen. First glance told him it was empty, but a second look showed him a dark figure slumped at the end of the table.

Harry froze, with wide eyes. Severs Snape, Hogwarts' resident Potions Master and dungeon bat, was glaring at Harry through a curtain of greasy hair that looked to be matted with blood.

Both were silent for a long moment before Snape pushed himself further upright in his chair and grunted at Harry.

"Don't just stand there with your mouth open, idiot boy. Make yourself useful." A sharp jerk of his head gestured to the coffee brewing on the stove and Harry hurried to comply, hardly wishing to start his day by angering the bitter man. He seemed to be in a particularly bad mood already.

Harry poured the coffee into two mugs and fetched the milk and sugar into a platter before turning back to Professor Snape. The man looked a mess, upon closer inspection. The blood that matted his hair had soaked into the collar of his robes and stained his ear a dark maroon.

"Are you hurt, Professor?" The words had escaped Harry's mouth before he could bite down on them. He had fully intended to give the vile man his coffee and then retreat back to his room so as not to be subjected to his presence.

"A keen observation, Potter. Ever so astute." Snape's words were biting and his eyes were narrow. "Was it the blood that tipped you off?"

"I was asking to see if I could help you." Harry's eyes flicked to the black robes with a pointed hood. There was no silver mask in sight, but Harry couldn't forget the distinctive towering shape of the Death Eater's in the graveyard. "Trying to be decent- though you wouldn't know anything about that… you're a Death Eater." Harry met the man's gaze with hard eyes and his hand on his wand.

"You have no idea what you are talking about, boy." Snape hissed, leaning forward over the table. "As ever, you are too blind to see what is right in front of you. How extraordinary it must be to the moral hero of the light. Where are your adoring fans now, Potter? Have they abandoned you? Realized how insignificant you are-"

Snape's berating was cut short when the fireplace flared a sudden green and Emmeline Vance, the same healer that had double checked Harry not two nights before, swept out of it and directly to Snape.

Her dark eyes glanced between the two before she pulled Snape back from the table and firmly into his chair with more force than Harry had thought capable from such a willowy woman.

"Rough night, Professor?" She asked as her hands carded through Snape's greasy hair, searching out the source of the blood. "Lovely to see you again Harry! I do hope that you've recovered?" She didn't look up at him as she worked, but Harry could hear the warmth in her voice. She didn't seem to have a problem with Snape's attire, in fact, she didn't seem bothered by the man at all.

"Yes, Ma'am, I'm feeling loads better," He said politely, glaring daggers at Snape over the Healer's shoulder. She was dabbing essence of dittany around a cut behind Snape's ear.

"Wonderful! Call me Emmeline, please. If you wouldn't mind, Dear, your professor and I need to have a bit of a meeting. Order business, you know," She glanced from Harry to the door, rather pointedly.

"Potter!" Snape barked. "You would do well not to mention this." The man fixed him with a piercing gaze and Harry suddenly felt that the room was quite heavy, as if the walls were closing in on him. Harry glanced away and the feeling dissipated.

Gathering up his steaming mug of coffee, Harry made a hasty retreat, glad to be rid of Snape. Seeing the surly professor in the kitchen had put quite a damper on his day.

Back in his room, Harry was surprised to find Ron awake. The redhead was stretched out on his bed, a fresh edition of the _Daily Prophet_ spread in front of him. He glanced up when Harry came in.

"Morning, Mate. Up a bit earlier than usual, aren't you?" Ron asked, rolling to make room for Harry to perch next to him on the bed.

"Nightmares. I've also had a letter from Rita, she'll help us, but she really isn't happy about it," Harry explained, taking the letters out of his pants pocket.

"Trade you then," Ron said, scooting the paper towards Harry and taking the offered pieces of parchment in return. "There's a bit of support for you in the letters to the editor. Mind you, it's not much, probably someone from the Order, but at least you've got someone on your side, eh?"

Harry grunted an affirmative and flipped to the back of the paper, in search of the letter in question. He found it and read it quickly, with a small smile on his face. It was rather long winded well laid out, though it also attributed the Ministry's lapse in control of the dementors to a creature that Harry wasn't familiar with, Wrackspurts, which apparently had made Fudge's brain go fuzzy. It was rather funny, and it did do a fair bit to lift Harry's spirits after his row with Snape. Which reminded him…

"Why's Snape here?" He asked. Ron gave on long groan in reply.

"Bloody git's been popping in all summer, for the important meetings and such. He and Sirius usually have a go at each other before Lupin or Mum breaks them up. Never stays long, though, thank Merlin."

"He's in the Order?" Harry's eyebrows rose quickly.

"Yeah, not sure what he does or why we need him, though. Maybe he brews potions for the Healers? I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't a spy though, the greasy git might as well have 'Death Eater' stamped across his left arm," Ron said.

Harry nearly confirmed Ron's suspicion but the memory of Snape's glare and the oppressive feeling stopped him. Snape had been quite serious in his waring, Harry thought.

"He was a right mess when I saw him: covered in blood, looked like he was about to faint before Emmeline flooed in," Harry said instead.

"Well, whatever it was that got him, I wish he would have tried harder!" Ron groused. "Imagine! Hogwarts without Potions or Snape! The Slytherins wouldn't know what to do with themselves without the great bat favoring them all the time."

Harry only nodded, still pondering Snape's sudden appearance, his mysterious wounds, and Emmeline's acceptance of his Death Eater robes. There was something more happening, he was sure, and Snape was at the center of it.

"Well, Mate," Ron said as he swung his legs out of bed to stretch. "Mum's got us slated to start cleaning the place up again this afternoon. We'd best get down to breakfast before the twins if we want anything before lunch!" Ron was pulling on jeans and ratty shirt from his trunk.

Harry tucked his thoughts away for the moment and got up to join his friend for what he hoped would be a more normal day than his week had thus far allowed.


	8. Grimmauld Place

**Chapter 8**

 **Grimmauld Place**

Snape, mercifully, was gone when Harry reentered the kitchen with Ron. Emmeline Vance, however, was not. She had taken a seat at the long kitchen table, her lavender colored robes a welcome spot of levity in the dark kitchen. Harry realized for the first time that there were no windows in the room and thus, the only light came from the massive wrought iron chandelier laden with dripping yellow candles.

Mrs. Weasley was bustling around the kitchen, preparing large quantities of eggs and toast, piling them onto platters that an old house elf conveyed to the table. Though it didn't speak, Harry could immediately tell that it was a surly little thing, possessing none of Dobby's abundant cheer.

Hermione and Ginny padded into the room shortly after Harry and Ron, both still rubbing sleep from their eyes. Hermione's hair looked rather wild, as though she hadn't had a chance to brush it out before coming for breakfast.

The teenagers piled their plates with food and congregated at the far end of the table, away from the adults, hoping for a chance to speak quietly.

"Have you heard anything from out friend?" Hermione asked in a low voice, between mouthfuls of toast and jam.

"She said she'd help us- she's not happy, mind, but she didn't refuse outright. I'll let you read her letter, and what I wrote out to send back, but not here." Harry glanced furtively around the kitchen. Mr. Royer had appeared from somewhere in the house and Sirius was chatting up Emmeline at the other end of the table. "We'll have to talk in private."

A loud _crack!_ split the air and Mrs. Weasley let out a shrill squawk, dropping a pitcher of lemonade onto the floor where the ceramic jug shattered. The twins had apparated directly into the kitchen behind her, instead of coming down the stairs from their room.

"-unthinking, lazy! It's a flight of stairs! There's _absolutely no need_ to apparate inside a house! Where are your manners? I cannot believe two sons of mine…" Mrs. Weasley's anger seemed to be picking up steam, but the twins didn't seem cowed. If anything, their matching grins grew wider as Mrs. Weasley kept yelling.

"That's about as good of a distraction as we'll get, I reckon," Ginny said, standing up from the table, abandoning her plate. "Let's go upstairs and talk." She swept out of the room in a passable imitation of Fleur, followed by the others. Hermione snatched an unattended copy of the morning _Prophet_ from the table as she passed. Upstairs, they shut themselves into the girl's room and Harry quickly turned over his letters for the girls to read.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Rita's letter, but she nodded thoughtfully while reading Harry's. "I think you are right not to argue with her- it'll probably only make her angrier to try and barter. Do you really think it's a good idea to sass her though?" She gestured to the first two paragraphs of Harry's letter with a skeptical look on her face.

"She wasn't polite to me! I wouldn't want her to think that I'm just agreeing to whatever she wants, I reckon this way she knows we're serious, not scared schoolkids." Harry defended his letter, he was rather proud of how it had come out.

"I for one, like it." Ron volunteered.

"You sound a bit like Malfoy, Harry!" Ginny grinned at him. "' _Should you like to do a proper job'_. Brilliant! Been taking lessons, have you?" Her tone was joking, but Ron turned a tinge green.

"Shut up Gin! Harry doesn't sound like Malfoy; for one, he's not a slimy git-"

"Actually, I tried to channel him a bit when I was writing it." Harry confessed. Ron's eyes looked like they were about to drop out of their sockets, the way he was ogling Harry. "Malfoy's a git, but he's a wealthy git who's family does quite a bit of shady things, like blackmailing reporters." Harry gave a pointed look at Ron. "I figured it was a bit of a Slytherin plot, so I should act a bit of a Slytherin prat."

Ron looked ready to protest again but Hermione beat him to it.

"I like the letter Harry, and I think that you're right. You need to sound confident. Rita's going to play a big role in getting you back in the public's good graces and she could smell blood in the water from a mile off. Send the letter, with any luck, we could make tomorrow's edition of the _Prophet_!"

"Speaking of which, let's see what we've got, eh?" Ginny snagged the paper from its place tucked under Hermione's arm and fluffed it out so that everyone could see. Harry shuffled around behind her and leaned over her shoulder to get a look.

Her hair, he realized, smelled pleasantly like vanilla and her dressing gown was soft against his arm where it brushed her back as he leaned. While the thoughts surprised him, Harry found himself enjoying the closeness to Ginny and didn't try to shift away. She certainly didn't seem to mind.

The story that caught his attention was on the inside of the front page, which was wonderfully barren of any mention of his or Dumbledore's names. The headline was a bit sensationalist, but Harry had come to expect nothing less from the _Prophet_.

 _Rising Ministry Star named to International Confederation of Wizards' Special Committee_

 _In what has come to the complete surprise of many in England, a political novice has been named to represent England in the ICW's Special Committee investigating the deaths of Cedric Diggory and Bartimus Crouch in May._

 _Due to the mysterious circumstances of both deaths, which occurred on the grounds of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the presence of international members of the Wizarding World, the ICW has decided to open an investigation into both deaths, as well as the future continuation of the Tri-Wizard Tournament._

 _The Tournament, organized and overseen by Crouch and Albus Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, Madam Olympe Maxime of Beauxbatons Academy, and Igor Karakaroff, former headmaster of Durmstrang Institute, who has since disappeared._

 _Madam Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour were favored amongst the most likely top Ministry officials to represent Britain on the ICW's Special Committee, however the place has been awarded to a young up and comer, Miss Eleanora Holt, a member of the Department of International Magical Cooperation who has previously served as a liaison to France and worked directly under the late Mr. Crouch._

 _Holt, the eldest daughter of the Noble House of Holt and a graduate of Slytherin House, has raised some eyebrows among Ministry officials. Madam Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister was underwhelmed by the appointment, overseen by Albus Dumbledore. Madam Umbridge said, "While it is refreshing to see the young people getting involved in such important matters, this investigation should have been handled by only those most qualified, who have dedicated years to serving the public. Surely Minister Fudge would have appointed someone far more knowledgeable, had he been in a position to do so."_

 _Miss Holt joins several notable names in the committee including: Cassius Albrecht of Germany, Edgar Barlow of The United States, Marius Courtemanche of France, Aaro Damgaard of the Baltic States and Petrina De Medici of Italy._

The article, surprisingly informative for the _Prophet_ , included a photo of a dark haired young woman standing next to Dumbledore, smiling and waving at the assembled reporters. Bulbs flashed, illuminating the figures more harshly each time a reporter took a picture. Ron gasped.

"That's Percy!" He pulled the paper closer to him and squinted down at the photo. Sure enough, standing just behind the pretty witch, visible only when she turned to the right and her long sleeves swept out of the way, the third eldest Weasley clutched several scrolls and scowled into the flashing lights.

"He worked for Crouch last year, didn't he?" Hermione asked. "He helped with the tournament, and filled in when Mr. Crouch…" She trailed off with a bit of a strained look, remembering the older man's fate.

"I'll bet he's right peeved that he's not getting that spot. It'd be a nice feather in his cap, especially after all that mess with Crouch. Bloody ponce got called in for questioning, blubbered to Mum and Dad about it for weeks." Ron grumbled.

"You'd never know it now, with the way he's been carrying on," Ginny retorted. Harry gave her a questioning glance. She continued, "He's rather taken with Fudge, again. It's more like hero worship really. He and Dad have had several rows about his opinions, erm, about Dumbledore… and you, Harry."

"Percy isn't in the Order?" Harry asked, surprised that he hadn't noticed the other Weasley's absence. "He doesn't believe that Voldemort's back?"

Ron snorted. "The git doesn't believe anything that doesn't come from the Minister's mouth. He thought he was up for a big promotion at work, after all the work he put in to the Tournament. Looks like he was passed over."

"Anyone associated with the Tournament is under scrutiny right now, with Cedric's death, and Karkaroff running off. The Ministry doesn't think that it was You-Know-Who, but they can't ignore that two people died. The _Prophet_ has been running stories about possible cults from Eastern Europe turning out dark wizards for weeks." Hermione's tone had slipped into that of a lecture and Ron made a relieved noise when Mrs. Weasley interrupted, poking her head through the door.

"Dears, meet us up in the library, we're clearing out the curtains on the third floor today, and hopefully we'll be able to the attic this afternoon!" She backed out of the room but left the door cracked.

"It's best not to mention Percy to Mum. She hasn't been able to have a conversation about him without bursting into tears." Ginny glanced at Harry with raised brows. "But we shouldn't keep her waiting, she's probably still miffed with Fred and George."

The four of them trooped out of the room and climbed up the stairs to the only floor that Harry hadn't seen yet. Hermione led them to the second door on the left and pushed it open, revealing a library that had very obviously been expanded using magic.

Heavy velvet curtains in a deep blue hung from golden rods near the ceiling, highlighting the tall windows that Harry was quite sure weren't visible from outside the house. Two walls were overtaken by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and the last wall was home to a massive marble fireplace that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in a decade. A brown leather sofa sat before the hearth and matching armchairs were dotted around the room. Sirius sat at a regal mahogany desk, reclining in the chair with his feet resting on top of several yellowing parchments that still covered the top of the desk. The house elf, whose name Harry still didn't know, crouched near him, glaring and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'blood-traitor bastard'.

Mrs. Weasley stood in front of their group with several buckets, muggle spray bottles filled with bright blue liquid, and rubber gloves. Harry thought it looked like she had raided Aunt Petunia's cleaning closet.

The twins and Mr. Royer had assembled already and Tonks had appeared behind them in the doorway, a hand with talon-like fingernails covering her wide yarn. Mrs. Weasley had assembled quite a team and the library was feeling quite cramped, despite the size of the room.

"All right, you lot!" Mrs. Weasley called, hands planted firmly on her hips. She had the look of a general calling her troops to attention. "Today we are taking care of the doxies in the curtains, scrubbing up the fireplace, emptying drawers and cabinets of anything dark, and dusting the books. Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny, you lot will be doing the curtains." Ron let out a loud groan that cut off abruptly when his mother fixed him with a hard glare. "Fred, George, since you are so eager to use magic, you two will be working on the fireplace and dust. Adults," She gazed around at Royer, Tonks, and Sirius. "You will be dealing with the contents of the drawers. Anything dark, we set aside to let Professor Dumbledore see."

Harry followed his friends over to the spray bottles and curiously pulled on his pair of thick yellow gloves. He knew a little about doxies from Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class, but they didn't seem particularly dangerous, just household pests.

"You want to spray, or catch, Mate?" Ron asked, as he collected a bucket. Harry shrugged and went to work spraying the curtains with one of the bottles Mrs. Weasley distributed to them. Almost immediately, hairy little pixies began to fly from the curtain and straight at Harry. He pumped the trigger on the bottle frantically and as each spurt of blue liquid made contact with one of the doxies, it fell from the air into Ron's waiting bucket.

One of the pests did manage to evade Harry and deliver a sharp bite to his ear lobe, but Mrs. Weasley quickly soothed the itching with a bit of balm from a tin in her apron.

He and Ron fell into an easy rhythm of spraying doxies and catching them in the bucket, though sometimes they had to re-douse the ones who began to wake up. Fred and George quickly finished their tasks of bringing the fire place back to its former shining glory, and banishing the dust and cobwebs that covered the books on the shelves and came over to watch their progress on the massively tall curtains.

Harry was stretching to reach a point about halfway up the blue velvet when he felt his feet lift the ground. He twisted around with a yelp only to find himself floating about four feet from the ground, Fred- though it might have been George- pointing his wand at him with a grin.

"Need a lift, Mate?" The twin asked him, sniggering. Harry laughed too and flailed around gracelessly until he managed to pivot back toward the curtain and began to spray in earnest, chasing out the doxies that had taken refuge closer to the ceiling. A few windows away, Ginny floated toward the ceiling, directed by the other twin's _wingardium leviosa_ charm.

Harry was having great fun with Fred float him about the room, stunning doxies as Ron hurried around below him with the bucket, trying to catch them as they fell from greater heights. He was focused on a section of the curtain about two thirds the way up the wall when a strangled yell broke Fred's concentration, causing him to drop suddenly to the floor, where he landed on his backside.

The cause of the yell was immediately obvious: a massive black snake with seven heads was rearing back, hissing madly at Tonks, who seemed to have fallen backwards in her attempt to jump back from the seven sets of fangs currently barred at her.

Harry rolled to his feet and spoke without thinking, " _Stop!_ " He took several quick steps toward the snake, but it acted as though it hadn't heard him. He tried to speak to the snake again, " _Get away from her!"_

Sirius yanked Tonks backwards, behind him, and stood with his wand drawn. The reason the snake didn't listen immediately became clear as its shape blurred and began to change. It was a boggart.

Suddenly a body dropped to the floor, lifeless and Harry was caught off guard when he realized that he was staring into his own eyes, the vibrant green dull behind cracked glasses. Harry could only stare at himself in horror.

Sirius gasped behind him and stuttered out a weak _Riddikulus._ The Harry on the floor jerked once, and blinked. His eyes flashed red and he pushed himself up, rounding squarely on Sirius with a horrible grin stretching across his face. He reached for his left sleeve and pulled it up, revealing an angry looking Dark Mark.

A strangled gasp escaped Sirius. His blue eyes were blown wide and his wand hung limply at his side. The boggart-Harry kept his green eyes fixed on Sirius as it stalked forward, its movements far more graceful than anything that Harry would have been able to achieve himself.

" _Riddikulus!_ " The Boggart twisted forms again as Royer stepped forward. A sphinx took Harry's place, its teeth and claws barred. " _Riddikulus!"_ Royer barked again, and with a sharp crack, the sphinx was reduced to a small kitten, wobbling on legs too weak to support itself. Royer's sharp laughter sent the Boggart flying backwards into the open cupboard at the base of the bookshelves. The door shut with a snap.

No one spoke. Harry's eyes were fixed on Sirius, who was taking ragged breaths, nearly collapsed against the desk.

"I think that's enough for today," Mrs. Weasley said softly. As she ushered everyone from the room, Harry crossed to Sirius and tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. His godfather was still for a moment, then lurched toward Harry and swept him into a tight hug as the ragged breaths turned into sobs.

Mrs. Weasley closed the door quietly behind her.


	9. Vignettes

**Chapter 9**

 **Author's Note:**

 **Some people have asked if this will be a Harry/Ginny Story. The answer is no, because this story won't be focusing on any pairings. Most of the characters are 15, and as real fifteen year olds do, the characters have hormones and feelings that they aren't entirely in sure what to do with. Harry will probably end up dating around a bit, again, as most fifteen year olds do.**

 **Others have asked if this will be a Weasley Bashing story, and the answer to that is also no. This story deals with politics and the way that people behave. In canon, Ron is prejudiced against Slytherins and strongly dislikes Malfoy, for good reasons which will be explored in detail. I'm going to try my hardest to make sure that everyone stays in character. If you think that they are out of character, point it out!**

 **Thank you for all the reviews and feedback on this story! I'm doing my best to keep up with it.**

 **Thanks all, I hope that you enjoy!**

* * *

Barnaby Antar was a portly little man who had enjoyed the relative anonymity that being a lawyer provided. He occasionally consulted for the Wizengamot and rubbed elbows with the likes of Madam Bones, or less desirably, the Minister's Undersecretary, Madam Umbridge. Regardless, his life had been quite calm for the past fifteen years or so.

The arrival of a handsome snowy owl had borne him a letter that promised his most exciting client yet. Mr. Harry Potter, the savior of the Wizarding World, currently the bane of Madam Umbridge's existence, if her chattering was anything to go by.

He would quite like to take the young man's case for that reason alone.

Well that and it really was an airtight case. A simple case of self-defense. The boy had saved his cousin's soul! It seemed it was a story made for the _Prophet_! He even had documentation to boot!

He had read through the letter Mr. Potter had sent him, taken note of the names Mr. Potter and mentioned, and duplicated the Healer's receipt in triplicate with a quick _Gemino_ charm and sent them zooming into appropriate folders, one that he would submit to the Wizengamot, one that he would keep for his records, and one was his working folder.

The trial was coming up quickly, only a few days away. It wasn't like the boy was on trial for murder. Technically, he wasn't on trial for anything; this was just a hearing.

Barny frowned. Harry Potter might not be on trial, but the way the Minister and his underlings were carrying on, he might as well be. The lawyer took his place behind the rich oak desk and pulled a letterhead toward him. He had several interviews to conduct before the hearing if he intended to do Mr. Potter justice.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy was a patient woman. She had waited for nearly a year before Lucius had worked up the nerve to ask for her hand in marriage. She had indulged her husband and her sister in their worship of the Dark Lord. She had even held her tongue when Lucius began speaking of introducing Draco to the Dark Lord's ranks.

She could not, however, allow a werewolf a place in her home. Certainly not one as mangy and bloodthirsty as Fenrir Greyback.

Her pointed nose wrinkled in distaste as she watched the hulk of a man tear through a rare steak in her dining room. The Malfoy family was seated far from the werewolf, clustered at one end of the sixteen-foot-long mahogany table. Foreign dignitaries and Lords had taken their meals at this table. Now it serviced a monster.

Draco clutched a silver knife in his left hand and watched the man eat with clear disgust marring his features. Normally Narcissa would scold him for wearing his thoughts on his face, but in this instance, she found that she agreed with her son. She certainly wouldn't reprimand him for failing to be polite to such an abomination.

Lucius alone seemed unbothered by the werewolf's presence in his home. Lord Malfoy had brought him back from a 'gathering' nearly two days ago and was under orders to shelter the brute. He has assured Narcissa that their guest would behave himself and make no untoward advances toward herself or their son. The Dark Lord had forbidden it.

But still Narcissa was unhappy. She could feel a taint around the man; she could hardly stand to be in the same room as such a monster. Her breeding simply would not allow it.

Abruptly, she stood from the table, her meal of braised pheasant untouched. Smoothing down the front of her silk down, she fixed her husband with an icy gaze and held out her bejeweled hand to her son.

"Draco, come away," Narcissa ordered. "You'll not be tainted by the filth of your father's… associate."

Her son's lovely grey eyes glanced from Lucius, to Greyback, and up to his mother. Lucius narrowed his eyes at his wife, but said nothing. Greyback only leered. Draco stood and carefully folded his napkin next to his plate.

"Of course, Mother."

* * *

Moonlight filtered in through the large windows at the front of the Chelsea flat. Gauzy curtains did little to hold back the brightness of the crescent moon or the glow of the streetlamps that lined the street outside.

The flat was tastefully decorated, the furniture expensive and the finishings delicate and feminine. What was not feminine, however, was the rumbling, lusty moan that shattered the silence of the flat.

In the single bedroom, tangled in the silky sheets, Peregrine Derrick, Slytherin's recently graduated ex-beater, panted as the dark-haired woman atop him disentangled herself from his well-muscled arms.

Truly, he couldn't believe his luck! The woman next to him was far too attractive to take an interest in him. At least, an interest in his looks. Derrick was no pretty-boy, but he was well bread and his family had loads of gold. It was just good fortune that he's managed to find a gold-digger as attractive as this one.

"Come back to be, Love," Derrick murmured, catching his lover's hand as she climbed out of the bed. She laughed and pulled her hand away from him, tying her short dressing gown shut around herself.

"I'll be back, Darling," She sauntered out of the room, only to return a moment later with two tumblers full of honey colored liquid. She passed him one and raised her own in a toast.

Derrick threw the liquor back and relished the burn of it in his chest. This was a muggle drink, but he preferred it to firewhiskey. His glass was instantly full again, with a quick flick of the woman's wand. Just as quickly as the first, Derrick disposed of his second serving of brandy.

"How are you feeling, Darling?" His lover asked as she crawled back into the bed and up his body until she was straddling his lap. Derrick quite enjoyed the position and for the thousandth time that night, he thanked Merlin that he had been at that Hogsmeade pub with his father and Goyle Sr. two nights ago. Their meeting had been cut short as the barman had caused a scene, shouting about scoundrels and conjuring a small heard of goats that had chased them out of the establishment. That mattered little to Derrick, the turn of events had led to the woman atop him into his bed.

"Wonderful, Love," Derrick growled and rolled them over so that he loomed over his lover's smaller frame. "Was just thinking how lucky I was to have a slut like you in my bed. The lads' will never believe it!"

"The lads?" The woman asked, her large amber eyes wide. "Your friends from the pub? You don't seem the type to drink at the Hogs Head… you were there for business?"

Derrick nodded his head but suddenly stopped when he felt a wand tip press against his temple and hand at his throat, manicured nails were pressing crescent moons into his Adam's apple. He blinked stupidly when the wand was pulled away gently, a long trail of silvery memory clinging to the black tip of the wand before it fell into the discarded tumbler resting at the woman's hip.

"If you ever call me a slut again, Darling…" The woman murmured from under Derrick, her wand at his temple again, her lips close to his and her knee pressed dangerously between his legs.

Derrick roared his displeasure and reached to dislodge the wand pressing into his temple. He wasn't fast enough, however, and his lover called out a spell before he could smack her wand away.

"Obliviate!"

* * *

Fat tears rolled down pale cheeks, the latest in a long string of emotional outbursts. This time it was sadness; a deep melancholy that seemed to have settled into her bones. Sometimes it was anger that lit a fire in her belly, but right now, it was aching sadness.

Cho Chang was devastated.

It had only been a matter of weeks since her boyfriend had tumbled to the ground, lifeless, in front of her. She could still hear the scream that had been torn from her throat and the wailing of Cedric's father as he clutched his son's unmoving body.

For much of her summer holidays, Cho had locked herself away in her bedroom with the blinds drawn and the candles unlit. She sat in the silence of the room and let silent tears fall. Breaking the silence would bring her crashing back to reality. A reality that she wasn't ready to face.

In her tears and her mind, she still had Cedric. She could relive the Yule Ball, their late-night conversations, all the times that she had snuck out of Ravenclaw Tower to meet him at the Quidditch pitch for midnight races.

For a nearly a year he had been the most important person in her life. And then he had been ripped away from her, murdered in the center of some dark maze.

Now she was alone.

That thought brought a fresh wave of tears.

The pride of others had cost her everything: the pride of England, of the Ministry, of Hogwarts. Even Cedric's own pride as a champion. He never should have entered the tournament. The tournament should have never happened in the first place.

Cho grasped onto that thought desperately. The tournament had ruined everything. It was in ill-conceived, bloodstained relic. It should never have happened.

She couldn't change the past. She couldn't bring Cedric back. But she could make sure that the tournament never happened again. She would see Cedric avenged, she would make his death mean something.

Cho uncurled herself from the purple comforter that she had draped about herself and stumbled to a desk that was piled high with unopened mail. She had letters to write.

* * *

Auror Albrecht scrubbed a freckled hand over his face, trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes. He had been deep in the Kapitol Building searching through old files- decades older than he was. Igor Karkaroff was rumored to be in Munich, holed up with the help of one of his… associates. It wasn't likely that he would stay there for long.

It had fallen to Albrecht, temporarily assigned to desk duty. His last prisoner failing to survive the bludgeoning curse to the neck that Albrecht had delivered. The man had been suspected to be a peddler of illegal potions, particularly Wolfsbane, of shoddy quality. There had already been three deaths and he had put up a struggle.

It was nearly two in the morning and Albrecht was surrounded by boxes of folders and stacks of reports in a cramped, unused and poorly lit office. He desperately needed a coffee. Or a firewhiskey.

" _Sheisse_ ," He groused, pulling another stack of manila folders from the box in front of him labeled with Karkaroff's name. The man had four boxes to himself, detailing his connection to the Death Eaters, his trial, and the death of his older brother, Kristoff, which he was suspected of committing, but never convicted of. How the man had become the headmaster of Durmstrang, Albrecht did not know.

He had been an unforgiving headmaster during the time that Albrecht had spent at the school. Karkaroff had demanded excellence and trained his students in aggression. Fencing and boxing were just as popular at Durmstrang as Quidditch.

A loud rap on the door frame caused Albrecht to jump to attention, the file in his hands fell to the desk with a sharp slapping sound.

An imposing man in long maroon robes was framed in the doorway, nearly to broad in the shoulders to fit through. Albrecht grinned and dropped out of attention immediately.

"Shacklebolt! What are you doing here?" He demanded as he moved around the desk to shake the man's hand and clap him on the back. "It's been ages."

"Cassius," the man's voice rumbled, low and smooth. "It is good to see you." With a flick of his wand, Kinglsey Shacklebolt cleared a stack of papers from one of the wooden chairs in front of the desk and sat down, sweeping his hand to indicate that Albrecht should do the same. "I wish that I could say I was here for pleasure."

Albrecht searched the man's face as he sat down, trying to find the meaning behind his words. His old friend's face had more lines than he had remembered, and Shacklebolt looked wary, though he hid it well. Albrecht waved his own wand, shutting the door of the office and threw up a privacy ward around them. The only other people in the office were on the other side of the department, but it didn't hurt to be careful.

"You are here because of your Dark Lord problem." Albrecht looked at Kingsley expectantly. It was not a question. A sharp incline of the other man's head confirmed his theory. "You wish to recruit me to Albus Dumbledore's side." This was not a question either.

Kinglsey grinned.

* * *

He really needed to call a house elf to clean the windows of the greenhouse. A fine layer of dirt had caked them, dampening the sunlight. Swirls of dust danced through the air around, stirred up by the gently waving tentacles of the Venomous Tentacula, Neville's prized plant.

Neville hadn't spent as much time in the greenhouse this summer as he would have liked. His Grandmother, Madam Augusta Longbottom, had been running him absolutely ragged with all of the luncheons, meetings, and hearings that she had dragged him to.

He would be fifteen soon, ready to begin his O.W.L. year at Hogwarts. Gran had decided that he was ready to begin learning how to act like the head of one of the Noble and Most Ancient Houses in Wizarding England. The Longbottoms were one of the Sacred Houses, the founding members of a stable Magical society in England, as his Gran constantly reminded him. He was expected to be a leader, to inherit the title of Lord that his father had owned, that his Grandmother held in trust for him.

Neville gulped as he picked up some shears and began snipping away at an over grown shrivelfig bush on the long bench that ran the length of the greenhouse. He didn't want to be the head of House Longbottom, he would have been much happier attending to his plants.

His wishes didn't seem to matter, though, as he was the only child of an only child. He had no close cousins who could inherit the title. Neville would gladly see the gold go to someone else if it meant that they had to take on the responsibilities that came with it.

Neville had never been the most confident Gryffindor and he sometimes wondered why the Sorting Hat had placed him there at all. He had none of Ron's fiery passion, Seamus's propensity to be cheeky with the professors, or Dean's quiet confidence. He _certainly_ didn't measure up to Harry Potter.

Harry would be a wonderful person to take over the Longbottom estate, in Neville's opinion. His Gran would love Harry, he would remind her of Neville's father, Frank the Auror.

For all his celebrity and his adventures, Harry had always been kind to Neville and made an effort to include him. There had been that time first year, where Hermione had put him in a full body bind, but then again, Neville had tried to order the trio back to bed.

Obviously, he didn't have any authority to be ordering his year mates about. Neville wasn't a prefect then, and he was quite sure that he wouldn't be awarded the badge this year either. Harry was the obvious choice, and Neville rather hoped that he used his status as a prefect to get the Slytherins off his back.


End file.
